


Hold On My Heart

by Kuailong



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuailong/pseuds/Kuailong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An incident leaves Natasha wishing for an end to it all, but she eventually realizes who, and what, she'd leave behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to, of course, the woman who started this. The best(and shush you are) Toni Stark; ironladytonistark on tumblr!

She’s shaking. From cold, blood loss, or something else entirely, she can’t tell. The room is dark, and the only thing she registers about it is that it’s hers. It’s safe. She’s huddled in the far corner, her good arm wrapped around her knees as they’re tucked against her chest. Her other arm hangs limply at her side. It’s probably broken, but the pain doesn’t register. Not in the face of everything. Her own state doesn’t matter. Her clothes are dirty and torn, no longer damp. Dried blood cakes them, it stiffens her shirt and pants in places. Some of it might be hers. Most of it is his. She can’t stand herself. She can’t stand that she’s still breathing and he is dead. She let him die. She could have saved him, maybe. But she didn’t. She had not. Alone. That is what she needs. She doesn’t think she’ll ever recover from this. No one needs to deal with her ever again. She’s worthless. She turns her head, faces the door. She’s barricaded it with whatever furniture she could move. It wasn’t much. She ripped out the door panel with her bare hands, severed the wires for the lights with her boot knife. She probably cut herself, but it doesn’t matter. Her hands are covered in blood. Hers. And his. He’s dead. She let him die. She didn’t even know his name. He was tall. Thin. Blond. Almost like a younger Clint. Maybe that’s why her world is so off-kilter. He looked so much like Clint. Except … the damn kid didn’t even look like he was fifteen. She could have saved him. She didn’t. Some damn kid’s life ended, and it was her own fault. His life snuffed out before he could truly live. A sob rips through her. She has no tears left, nothing left to cry but dry sobs that wrack her body periodically. She stares at the room again. It must be in Avengers Tower. In the pitch darkness she can make out the still sparking paneling she must have shot out. She wonders if the team even knows she’s there. Probably. JARVIS doesn’t miss much. She turns her face back, burying it in her knees. Dead. He’s dead. She killed him. Her fault. All of it. She doesn’t know how long she’s been in that room, she’s far too distracted to feel hunger, pain, or thirst. Days probably. Her chest heaves with another sob.

 

She sits there, using the wall to hold her upright for a while. The exact time, she has no clue. Her body shudders with dry sobs, and they quickly turn into dry heaves. There’s nothing to bring up, nothing left in her body to expel. The wall is no longer sufficient to hold her up and she lets her body list to the ground. She curls up in the fetal position. She’s still sobbing and coughing, she can’t seem to stop. A bright spark illuminates the room for a brief second. It’s a wreck. She must have torn it up. She thinks she can see blood in places, but it doesn’t matter. She closes her eyes and she can see him; see the kid. Lying in front of her. Dying. Begging for her help. She stands there, immobile. Logically, she knows that’s not what happened. She did her best; to save him she knows that. But in her mind, she stands there. She watches him die. Another series of sobs and her eyes fly open. Sleep will not be a welcome embrace. It hasn’t for the days, hours, minutes she’s trapped herself in the room. The team had been away when she returned, they weren’t due back for several days. That was fine, she couldn’t face anyone anyway. She doesn’t remember the trip to the Tower, or the trip to her room. She stares into the darkness, hoping to find comfort. Instead, she sees that damn kid. Covered in blood. Standing in the middle of the room.

“I’m sorry.” She croaks. Her voice is gone. She doesn’t know from what. Crying, probably. Screaming, maybe. It doesn’t matter. She repeats herself. “I’m sorry.” She says it over and over again, she doesn’t know how many times she says it. She says it until her voice completely leaves her. And then she mouths it. She’s breaking, fracturing into a million pieces. There will be no putting her back together again. The vision before her fades, but still she apologizes. It’s all she has left. And then she’s sobbing again. She doesn’t understand why she feels like she does. She’s seen hundreds, probably thousands of people die. She’s killed hundreds. But this one death, it’s affecting her like none of the others. He looked so much like Clint. Maybe he was too young. She couldn’t tell. She’s breaking. Falling apart. She starts coughing, spots dance before her eyes. She’s not sure if it’s going to end like this. Maybe it should. Before she gets someone else killed. There’s a sound at the door, maybe she imagined it. She doesn’t look at the door. Another sound. Creaking, groaning as someone forces it open. The furniture is pushed out of the way, she still does not move. She doesn’t look up. A light is shined, it burns her eyes. She closes them.

“’Tasha? Jesus! ‘Tasha!” She hears the voices, she understands them. But her only acknowledgment is a twitch of her good hand, she can feel the blood flaking off. Someone is kneeling in front of her, she doesn’t look at them. She looks dully ahead. A light is shined in her face, she scrunches it up and closes her eyes. She feels blood flaking off from her face. Idly, she wonders how she got blood on her face. It doesn’t matter. A gentle hand grips her chin, moving her face upward.

“Come on, Natasha. Look at me.” It’s Tony, she can tell. But she can’t bring herself to acknowledge her lover. She keeps her face scrunched up, why can’t he stop shining the light. And then it’s turned off, and the room is only lit by the open door.

“The light is out, ‘Tasha. Come on, look at me.” Tony is trying to coax her, she can tell. She’s not sure she spoke about the light, she might have. She can no longer tell.

“Tony, careful. Her arm’s broken. I can’t tell if she’s hurt anywhere else.” There’s a second voice, Clint. She flexes her good hand and tries to turn away from them. Her chin is still held in Tony’s hand, and he tightens the grip as she tries to turn.

“Go away.” She tries to say, it probably comes out garbled. She can’t tell. Her voice is gone, and her body is shaking.

“Clint, get Bruce. Tell him I’ll meet him in medical.” She hears Tony say. She whimpers. Why can’t they leave her? She’s not worth the trouble. She got some goddamn kid killed.

“Easy ‘Tasha, I’ve got you.” He’s speaking again, and when she cracks her eyes open, Clint is gone. She didn’t see him leave. She might have lost some time. She feels herself being moved, being picked up. She whimpers again. Not from pain. She doesn’t feel pain, not right now. No, she just wants to be left alone. To waste away. Suddenly, it finally dawns on her. That’s what she wants. To waste away into nothing. To cease to exist. She’s not worth the air she breathes. She feels as Tony adjusts his grip on her, and instinctively, she curls into him. This is her home, her lover. As much as she wishes an end, her body knows it’s safe. She moans, this isn’t what she wants. This isn’t what she needs. 

“Leave me alone.” She’s trying to speak again, but she only succeeds in sending herself into a coughing fit. She feels Tony adjust his grip again.

“Easy ‘Tasha.” He’s repeating himself, and even in her addled state she can hear the fear and worry in his voice. She wishes she could soothe him, but she just wants it all to end. “Stop talking, it’s going to be okay.” It’s never going to be okay again, she knows this. But she stops trying to talk, it doesn’t seem to be doing any good anyway. They’ll leave her alone at some point, she can flee then. She loses some more time, then, because the world snaps back into focus as Tony lays her on a bed.

“Natasha, look at me.” It’s Bruce who she hears next, and she turns away from him, trying to bury her face into the pillow. This isn’t what she wants. Why can’t they understand. Why can’t they just let her waste away. Voices are wrapping around her, but she’s only able to make out certain words. They’re speaking about her, but she can’t be bothered to pay attention.

“I’m going to sedate her.” She hears Bruce say, the first sentence she’s able to understand. She whimpers, the noise slipping past her lips without her consent. She hates being sedated, she hates the feeling of waking up. But maybe she’ll get lucky. Maybe she won’t wake up. She feels Tony touch her cheek and whisper an apology to her. She doesn’t understand why he’s sorry. She’s the one who should be sorry. There’s a prick in her good arm and she waits, knowing the oblivion that will come. She welcomes it.

All too soon she’s waking up, she feels it hasn’t been nearly long enough. She feels clean, and warm. She doesn’t realize she’s missed those things. She cracks her eyes open, she’s still in medical. She tries to flex both hands, her broken arm is safely encased in a cast, and it impedes her hand. Her good arm is strapped to some kind of board, and she can’t understand why. She tries to pull it closer to her chest, to inspect it, but she’s stopped short by an IV line. The board suddenly makes sense, and she shifts to get better access to it. She’s alone in the room, which suits her just fine. No one to see her escape. She’s not thinking clearly, because JARVIS doesn’t even register in her mind. She starts picking at the tape around the IV, peeling it off. Her chest and torso are bound in bandages, she doesn’t remember breaking ribs, but she doesn’t remember a lot. She needs to get out of there, she needs to find a place where she can either waste away or get her head on straight. Now that she’s feeling better, she’s less sure that she wants to end it all. She has ties, people that will miss her. She needs to get a hold of herself, and the drugs pumping through her system will impede that. She needs the IV gone, and she needs to get out of that room. Medical makes her nervous, it’s too clean, too sterile. It brings back hazy, half-forgotten memories. Things she’d rather not touch. She finally gets to the point where she can pull out the IV, and she does just that. The board needs to go next, and whatever is itching at her face. She manages to get the board off without much trouble, and with her good hand reaches up to her face. She heaves a sigh, there’s oxygen tubing taped to her face. She manages to get that off as well. She’s clad in nothing but a hospital gown, but that doesn’t matter to her. 

She out of the room in short order, making a bee-line for the elevators. She’s a bit amazed she hasn’t been caught yet, it’s only by sheer luck she’s gotten as far as she has. She stands at the elevator, unsure where to go. Without thinking, she keys in a code. JARVIS is speaking to her, but she ignores the AI, shifting from one foot to the other in impatience. She now understands the reason for the oxygen, she’s finding it a little hard to breathe. But she refuses to take time to take stock of herself, she needs out of medical. She needs time to think. She needs a place to think. The elevators arrives, and she gets in. Another code punched in and the elevator is moving. She now understands where she is going. 

“Mr. Stark is not there, Agent Romanoff.” She hears JARVIS saying. She shakes her head, she’s not looking for Tony. She needs to be alone. She doesn’t trust her voice, she’s afraid if she hears herself speak, that she’ll lose her resolve. That she’ll go back to the dark place she was before, and she needs to get her head on straight. The elevator pings and she’s practically running down the short hallway. Another code at the door, and the workshop lights up at her entrance. She walks with a purpose, heading to the worn couch in the corner. There’s a blanket draped over the back, and she picks it up and wraps it around herself. She didn’t even realize she was cold. She lays down on the couch and faces the empty workshop. She’s half tempted to ask JARVIS where Tony is, she but knows, her lover will eventually find her. So she lays there, trying to coordinate her thoughts. She’s having a hard time doing so. The drugs are still in her system, muddling her thoughts further. Tears start to fall down her face, leaking into the couch where her head is laying. She’s trying to wrap her mind around everything, but it’s so hard. So hard to focus. She’s not sure how long she lays there before the workshop door slides open with a hiss. She turns to see Tony rushing in, panicked. It hurts her, knowing she caused that panic. Knowing she’s the one who put him in that state. But he quickly relaxes when he finds her curled up on the couch.

“’Tasha.” He breathes and slowly approaches her. It puzzles her, why he is moving slowly, like she’s some scared animal he needs to catch. Though, she supposes, she is. She stares at him, the tears still trailing down her face. He finally reaches her and kneels on the floor in front of the couch. “You scared us.” He says, reaching out to her. But he stops, hesitant. She flinches, knowing she also caused his uncertainty. She tries to offer him a hesitant smile, but she feels like it comes out as more of a grimace.

“It’s all right.” She croaks, finding herself lying. Trying to set her lover at ease. She’s afraid to tell him, afraid he’ll judge her. Or hate her. For what she’s at fault for. Tony shakes his head.

“No, it’s not.” He says knowingly, and Natasha is suddenly afraid. Does he know? What does he know? Does he hate her now? But he’s standing and sitting on the couch beside her. He pulls her into his arms, holding her. And she can’t keep it in anymore. She starts sobbing, gross, ugly, heaving sobs. Sobbing so hard she can’t catch her breath. Sobbing so hard her body is shuddering and shaking. She feels herself being lifted, blanket and all. It doesn’t matter where she is going, Tony is here. Tony is home. Tony is safe. She can’t stop sobbing, she can’t breathe. 

“It’s going to be okay, ‘Tasha.” She hears Tony say. He says it over and over as he carries her. She’s struggling to breathe, it’s starting to scare her that she can’t catch her breath. All too quickly she finds herself back in the bed she escaped, but she can’t be bothered to be upset. An oxygen mask is being pressed to her face, and she finds she can finally breathe. She takes great, heaving breaths, gulping down air. The spots that were dancing in her vision clear and she finds Tony beside her, running his hand through her hair. He smiles at her, and she finds herself smiling back. How she could even think of leaving him behind, she doesn’t know. And she knows she’ll tell him what happened. And he’ll support her, she understands that now. This is the man she chose to spend the rest of her life with, and she knows he’ll understand.


	2. Chapter 2

They’re off the grid for a week. Handling some mess SHIELD left them. Natasha doesn’t go with them, she says she has her own thing she needs to do. They don’t need her, it’s simple for them. He wants to see her. He wants to hold her. A week is a long time. Since they’ve gotten together, they’ve rarely been apart. They’re close enough to the Tower, Tony checks his phone. Hoping for a text from Natasha. He’s disappointed. But there’s a text from JARVIS. He flicks it open, expecting nothing. He’s tired, he misses the urgent labeling. But he nearly drops his phone after he reads the text. He’s standing, not realizing he is. 

“Clint, can you get us there faster? Something’s wrong with Natasha.” He finds himself saying, reading the text again. According to the text, Natasha holed herself up in her room Monday. He checks the date, it’s Thursday. He dials JARVIS, shooting a text to his AI in hopes of more information. It takes him a few moments to hear that Steve and Clint are speaking to him.

“-ony. What the hell?” He catches the tail end of Clint’s words, and he snaps his head up.

“Give me a minute.” He says, turning back to his phone. JARVIS is able to give him a bit more information, but it just makes things worse. The AI suspects Natasha came in injured, and she’s cut out his systems in her room. He cites that she wasn’t acting normal, and seemed upset and panicked. The AI is unable to tell him more, and Tony wants to throw his phone across the jet. 

“JARVIS can’t tell what’s going on, she might be hurt. Something is definitely wrong, she’s been in her room since Monday.” He’s saying, looking up at Steve. Clint’s flying the damn jet, but Tony is sitting close to the cockpit. His suit sits in the back of the jet, he’s in his under-suit. He wants to peel the damn thing off, he’s been in it for days. But that concern quickly flits itself to the back of his brain. 

“Shit.” He hears Clint say. Clint’s known Natasha longer, and maybe he understands something Tony doesn’t. He turns to Clint, and notices Steve doing the same. 

“I’m just as clueless as you guys, but something is definitely up.” Clint is saying, and Tony’s shoulders sag. Tony looks up at Steve, he feels the Captain’s eyes on him.

“We’re about a half hour out, Tony.” Steve is saying. Tony nods. It’s going to be the longest half hour of his life. He’d take the suit and fly back himself, but the damn thing is damaged. He clenches his phone. He’s scared. Terrified. The half hour drags by, and he’s standing at the hatch the moment they land. He turns to see Clint practically flying out of the pilot’s chair, and he nods. If Tony can’t get through to Natasha, maybe Clint can. He and the archer make a bee-line for Natasha’s room. 

Tony doesn’t like what he finds. The door is jammed shut, and won’t automatically open. Even the overrides are down. He swears, colorfully, and wedges his fingers in the door. Sheer force of will, and some help from Clint, and they manage to get the door open. Tony is greeted by smaller furniture piled against where the door was. The room is dark, and Tony turns. The door paneling, and electrical system to the room, is ripped out of the wall. The jagged edges of the wiring tells him exactly what happened. Clint’s suddenly shining a flashlight in the room, giving them a better look. Tony absently wonders where the hell he got a flashlight, but that thought quickly leaves him when he sees what’s huddled in against the far wall. 

“’Tasha? Jesus! ‘Tasha!” He finds himself almost shouting. His voice breaks and he’s rushing over to her. Clint shines the light on her and Tony chokes. She’s covered in blood, there’s so much blood. But she’s moving, she’s alive. He’s afraid to touch her, to see where she’s hurt. But he has to. She needs him. There are tear tracks down her face, lines of pale skin in the blood that’s caked on her face. He reaches out and grips her chin, turns her face so he can get a better look. Clint shines the light. She’s so pale, and the dark circles beneath her eyes scare Tony. She scrunches up her face, and blood flakes off. She’s not looking him in the eye, though. She’s looking past him, like he’s not there. He’s terrified.

“Come on, Natasha. Look at me.” He’s saying. He’s begging. He’s scared. And then she’s speaking, mumbling. He has to strain to hear it. Clint, apparently, hears it, and the light is switched off. It was bothering her, but now he can’t tell how badly she’s hurt. But her face relaxes, and that tells him everything. 

“The light is out, ‘Tasha. Come on, look at me.” He says, trying to coax her into looking at him. He’s suddenly afraid she has a bad concussion, but he can’t tell. Something is very wrong, though. Clint’s bending down beside her, assessing her. 

“Tony, careful. Her arm’s broken. I can’t tell if she’s hurt anywhere else.” Clint says, and Tony nods. He hadn’t noticed the arm, but in the dim light he can see that it’s bent at an unnatural angle. She tries to turn away, but he won’t let go. He needs her to look at him. She’s trying to speak again, and this time, Tony can’t make out what she’s trying to say. Her voice is so slurred and laced with exhaustion and something else he cannot name that he can’t understand her. He’s scared. He turns to Clint.

“Clint, get Bruce. Tell him I’ll meet him in medical.” He’s saying. He needs to move her, but he’s scared he’ll hurt her. She clearly needs help, though. She’s whimpering and it breaks his heart. He’s never heard that sound from her. It rips him in two.

“Easy ‘Tasha, I’ve got you.” He says to her, Clint has already left. He’s assessing her now, trying to find the best way to move her. He fears that if he does hurt her, she won’t be able to tell him. She still hasn’t looked him in the eye. He gently adjusts her on the floor, running quick hands over her to check for anything serious that would prevent him from moving her. He finds nothing. He slips an arm under her legs and one behind her back. He lifts her, slowly, carefully, and she lets out another whimper. It breaks him, he can’t tell if she’s in pain and he knows she can’t tell him. He turns and starts walking, he needs to get her to Bruce. More garbled words from her, and then suddenly she’s coughing. Hard. He has to adjust his grip on her.

“Easy ‘Tasha.” He feels like a broken record. But he doesn’t know what to say, what to do. He’s lost. He’s terrified. “Stop talking, it’s going to be okay.” He adds. He’s so scared. He picks up the pace, nearly running to the elevator. He thinks she’s blacked out, she’s gone still in his arms. He goes careening into medical, looking around frantically for his team. He finds them. He finds Bruce, standing beside a bed. He’s moving, running, until he reaches Bruce. And then he’s laying her on the bed. He looks up at Bruce, trying to read his friend. But Bruce just looks concerned. That doesn’t bode well. 

“Natasha, look at me.” Bruce is coaxing her, but Tony knows that won’t work. He shakes his head at Bruce. But it does garner a reaction from her, she turns away. That’s something. Bruce is pressing fingers to her neck.

“JARVIS, what are her vitals?” Bruce is asking, and all Tony can do is rest a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. And then his AI is sounding off numbers and words he only vaguely understands, and what he can understand scares him. Tony is watching her face, hoping for some reaction. She seems to fade in and out, and continues to stare ahead.

“She’s in bad shape.” He hears Bruce say, he doesn’t look up. He can see that for himself. Her breathing is labored and fast, and he can see the slight tremor in her good hand.

“Natasha, I need you to focus. Concentrate.” Bruce is speaking to her again, but this time, there is no response. She stares ahead, expression vacant. Tony is growing more terrified. She’s curled up on the bed on her side, facing Tony. Bruce reaches over and adjusts her, straightening her out. She doesn’t resist, or even react. Bruce shakes his head.

“I’m going to sedate her.” Bruce is saying, and Tony flinches. He knows how much she hates that, and it garners a whimper from her. He flinches again. Tony is reaching down, cupping her cheek with a hand. He bends down to her level.

“I’m sorry, ‘Tasha.” He’s saying, but she doesn’t react. He was hoping she would. He looks up in time to see Bruce inserting the needle. He sighs, but he knows Bruce knows what he’s doing. And then they’re waiting for the drugs to take effect, Tony’s running a hand up and down her leg. Finally, her eyes close and she goes limp. And then Bruce is moving. He’s putting in an IV and slipping oxygen tubing around her face.

“Tony, help me get her undressed.” Tony nods, reaching down. Finally, something he can do to help. He stops. Her shirt is torn in several places, and dried blood cakes it to her skin. He’s not sure how to do this. And then Bruce is pressing a pair of scissors in his hands. He nods again, understanding. He starts to cut her shirt off, and sees Bruce doing the same to her pants. It takes some maneuvering but they get the ruined clothing off of her. Tony stops. He stares. He can see where the blood was hers, and where the blood was someone else’s. There are gashes and cuts and scrapes. Some already infected. Large bruises purple her chest, and he’s flinching. There have to be broken bones under that, he can tell. He’s frozen. He manages to pull his gaze away, and then he’s looking at her broken arm. He wants to gag, to puke. He’s staring and he can’t stop. 

“Steve, get him out of here.” He hears Bruce saying, and hands are gently steering him away, guiding him out of the room. Tony can’t forget her vacant look. Steve is steering him down the hall. Finally, he snaps back to himself. He turns, he wants to go back. He needs to go back. But Steve blocks him.

“You need to get cleaned up as well, and then we have a debrief.” Steve is saying, and Tony scowls. He knows the Captain is right. He relents, climbing in the elevator of his own accord. He heads to his room and showers. Then changes into clean clothes. Their debriefs are usually at the SHIELD offices, and he makes it in time to meet the rest of the team. Bruce is there, and he turns to his friend.

“She’s going to be fine, Tony. She just needs rest.” Bruce’s words set his world at ease. At least somewhat. He knows he will not feel completely at ease until she looks at him. The fact that she was looking past him the entire time, it nearly broke him. She needed him, and he had no idea how to be there for her. The rest of the team is moving, and he follows. The ride to the office isn’t long, and Tony is preoccupied the entire time. He barely pays attention to the debrief, Hill is running it, and he can’t bring himself to pay attention to her. He doesn’t know if she notices, but she pulls him aside after the meeting. She doesn’t say anything, just presses a folder in his hands and walks away. He looks down at the folder, the team is chatting amongst themselves in the room. He opens the folder and starts to read. And suddenly, he understands. 

The folder contains Natasha’s mission parameters, which are normal. He skims through them. The next page is what Natasha reported after the mission. It’s jumbled, garbled. Tony has to read it several times to understand it. He’s suddenly nauseous. He understands her state. Civilian deaths hit them all hard, but from what he gleans, she is blaming herself. She describes the kid in her own jumbled words, and Tony understands further. She saw Clint in the kid. He understands now, and while he doesn’t know how he can fix it, he will do his best. As he closes the folder, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out, JARVIS is texting him. He reads the text, and then reads it again. He’s rushing back into the room, but Bruce is already standing, his own phone out. Natasha escaping medical is not an abnormal thing, but Tony knows she’s in no state to really be by herself. He’s suddenly afraid again. He and Bruce are practically running to the car, the rest of the team left in the dust.

“She should have been out for another three hours.” Bruce is saying, but they both know Natasha’s body is different. Altered. Still, Bruce is usually capable in factoring such things in. “She must have burned through it faster than I expected.” Now Tony knows Bruce is simply talking to himself, working out the problem verbally. Tony throws himself in the driver’s seat, barely waiting for Bruce to get in. He kicks the car into gear and peels out of the parkway. Traffic laws don’t matter at that moment, and he’s going to end up with several traffic tickets in the mail, but they’re lucky, and they don’t get caught by any police officers. In record time they’re back at the tower, and he and Bruce are running to the back elevator. Tony takes a brief millisecond to thank everything for JARVIS and his A.I.’s thought process, the elevator is waiting for them.

“Where is she, JARVIS?” Bruce calls out, and Tony wants to kick himself for not thinking to ask that himself. His head isn’t on straight, he’s terrified and worried and definitely a little nauseous.

“Agent Romanoff has holed herself up in Sir’s workshop. She seems to be distressed and confused.” The A.I. answers and Tony swears before turning to Bruce.

“Let me get her, I’ll bring her back to medical.” He finds himself saying. He wishes Clint was with them too, but Natasha will still respond to him. Of course she will, they’re dating. There’s a modicum of doubt in his mind, but she shoves it away. Right now Natasha needs support, and that’s what he will be. Support. Bruce nods at his words, and the elevator stops on the medical floor to let him off. And then JARVIS is whisking the elevator to the floor where his workshop is. Tony frets the entire time, he has no device in his hands to ask JARVIS to give him visual, and he decides he simply needs to put monitors in the elevators. He doesn’t think much past that, as the elevator doors open, and he’s running out into the hallway. He bolts to his workshop door and he probably dents the keypad with the code to open the doors. He’ll fix it later. The door slides open and he rushes in, searching the large workshop for signs of his girlfriend. She’s curled up on his ragged old couch, wrapped in that scratchy afgan he keeps meaning to replace. He breathes a sigh of relief, though, he’s not relieved. Not truly. 

“’Tasha.” His voice is nothing more than a whisper, he’s too afraid to speak any louder at that moment. He can tell she’s been crying, that she’s still crying, and he just wants to hold her. He wants to make everything okay for her. He’s never seen her look like this, so he moves slowly. Carefully. He exaggerates every movement, because she’s still the Black Widow, and he really has no idea of the state of her mind. He’s not afraid of her, though. He’s afraid for her. He feels like he doesn’t reach her side soon enough, but he’s there. He kneels on the floor before the couch and looks at her. Tony really looks at her. It’s not as bad as he had feared, driving like a mad-man to get to the tower. But it’s still bad. He makes a motion to reach out to her, but he stops partway there. “You scared us.” He murmurs. He’s unsure if he should touch her, that she wants to be touched. His brow wrinkles when she tries to offer him a smile. At least, he hopes it was a smile.

“It’s all right.” Her voice is nothing more than a croak, and he flinches. He can tell she’s lying, and that bothers him. The fact that he can see through her lie tells him just how bad it is. He shakes his head at her words.

“No, it’s not.” He says, and he watches her entire demeanor change. She suddenly grows scared, and pulls away from him. He quickly stands and sits on the couch next to her. He grasps her, gently, and pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly. And then the floodgates open, and she’s sobbing in his arms. She’s sobbing harder than he’s ever seen anyone cry, and it’s definitely not usual for her. The rare times that Natasha Romanoff cries, the tears are silent. This is not silent. He holds her tighter, despite the fact that she is shaking. That her body is shuddering. He can’t stop this, he knows she needs to let it out. And that’s when Tony realizes she shouldn’t be out of medical. Because he can hear her gasping for breath and that’s most definitely not a good thing. He gathers her up in his arms and stands, even as she is still sobbing. Times like this it makes him realize just how small she is, even compared to his compact frame. He pauses to make sure the blanket is still wrapped around her, because she’s got to be cold in nothing but a medical gown. He also double checks to make sure her injured arm is situated before he takes off.

“It’s going to be okay, ‘Tasha.” He finds himself trying to reassure her, as he starts heading out of the workshop and towards the elevator. He’s walking as fast as he dares, because she’s still not catching her breath and he is so scared. He makes it back to medical with her in short order, but not short enough for him. He lays her in the bed she had previously been occupying, and looks up to Bruce for direction. He’s gotten her to medical, he doesn’t know what else to do now. He watches as Bruce places an oxygen mask on her face and he really hopes that will help. That it might solve one problem so he can tackle the next one with her. He starts to card his fingers through her hair, trying to soothe her through physical touch. He finds himself smiling at her, and after a moment she smiles back. That is what lets him know things will be okay. Eventually. He’ll get her, and them, through this entire affair. Because that’s what they do. That’s how they work. She’d do the same for him, has done the same for him. That’s what love is to him, what they have together. He finds his smile widening as he looks down on her. Yeah, they’ll be okay.


End file.
